


Cross My Heart

by perfchan



Series: Swapping Out Silence [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sequel, Slow Burn, but not too much, kinda my take on the soulmark idea, klance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 08:55:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11437455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfchan/pseuds/perfchan
Summary: “It moves?” Lance questions, awestruck. His eyes flick to Keith who is watching him rather than the tattoo, expression unreadable. He’s clearly not as impressed as Lance.The time when Lance accidentally gets a magic tattoo that conveniently alerts the world to his big (unrequited??) space crush on his rival turned teammate.Directly following the events of “Swapping Out Silence,” this one is from Lance’s perspective. Still set in canonverse.





	Cross My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Can I just say a huuuuuuge ‘thank you’ to every single person who read, left kudos, and commented on Swapping Out Silence? So many encouraging people….I am so grateful. I hope you enjoy the continuation!

***

 

All it takes is a tilt of the head and a quiet, “I’m going to go check that out,” from Keith. 

 

“Not part of the plan!” Lance shouts after Keith, taking after him with no lack of grumbling, even as he half jogs to avoid losing him in the overfilled market. 

 

Half a varga later, Lance finds himself two alleys and a small set of stairs removed from where he’s supposed to be, following Keith as he ducks in one of the few shops this far away from the crowd. 

 

The mission assigned to them is straightforward. Basically. This is the week of a Verscyan ceremony, and the members of Voltron are present in response to an appeal from the planet’s leaders. Verscy only hosts the event once every 120 years or so (Lance still finds alien units of time a bit wishy-washy) and they had received intel that the Galra were aiming to attack this planet at its most defenseless. 

 

He and Keith had been assigned to some kind of shopping district. As they wind their way through the throngs of aliens, they were meant to be monitoring for any signs of Galra presence, trying to follow up on a potential lead regarding the attack.  At least, that was the idea. 

 

*

 

“It’s a...map store?” Keith wonders, as he walks in, pushing slightly ahead of Lance, and looking around. 

 

“Woah.” Lance doesn’t bother to contain his excitement as he flits around Keith, looking at the walls. They’re covered in what appear to be drawings, mostly of planets and star systems. A few are simpler, phrases in alien script, geometric patterns.  Many of the drawings appear to glow, despite the shop being well-lit, almost phosphorescent. 

 

“I don’t think they’re maps, actually,” Lance begins, tilting his head at the display. Another room leads to what appear to be workbenches, covered in a multitude of little bottles, set up next to cushioned seats. This reminds him of something, but of what, he can’t quite place…..

 

“Lance,” Keith breaths, his tone hushed in a way that makes Lance whip around. He finds Keith wide-eyed, biting his bottom lip to contain a smile, as he motions to the counter. “There’s a dog.” 

 

“Huh, I didn’t peg you as a dog person, you seem like more of a...” Lance trails off as he watches Keith scratch under the dog’s chin and stroke its floppy ears, a dopey grin on his face. Keith whispers softly as it starts thumping its tail against the counter in an excited wag, and Lance is pretty sure he hears at least once instance of “good boy,” murmured under Keith’s breath. 

 

Okay. Now this is just unfair. 

 

Lance is a self-taught expert in the field of Ignoring How Good Keith Looks. Apart from, yanno, saving the universe or whatever, it’s his main occupation. He has a  _ Master _ ’s in Pretending To Be Unaffected when Keith takes off his helmet and his hair is stuck to his forehead a little and sticking out around his ears. Or when he’s training hard and lifts the bottom of his shirt up to wipe his face. Or when he’s just woken up and Keith’s eyes are still a little droopier as he shuffles towards the kitchen. Lance has a  _ PhD _ in Ridiculous Backhanded Compliments that he reserves for dire situations such as shirtless Keith, or the ultra-rare sensitive Keith who makes his heart catch in his throat when he looks at Lance with his solemn, dark eyes….

 

However, expert though he is, Lance has no precedent for dog-loving Keith. Who laughs quietly, eyes crinkling,  _ holy crow, his dimple, _ as he gives this dog a tummy rub. Lance manages something wildly intelligent along the lines of “Yeah, dogs are good,” and is attempting to elaborate when the door behind the counter opens. 

 

A man mutters to himself as he walks into the room, but he falls silent as he sees Keith and Lance. Lance’s hand lowers closer to his bayard at his side, and he notes with a twinge of disappointment that dog-loving Keith is definitely gone. Regular Keith stands beside him, just as tense, body unconsciously adopting a fighting stance. 

 

The dog sits up. “Oh there you are, Dii,” it says. “Did I mention we have customers?” 

 

Lance watches out of the corner of his eye as Keith’s jaw goes comically slack. ‘The dog just talked??’ he mouths to Lance, pointing at the dog as an unnecessary reference.

 

“Benny, you useless mutt, you’re supposed to watch the shop while I’m gone...I swear, if I didn’t owe your sister so much money…” The man glares at the dog, before introducing himself to Keith and Lance with a casual nod.  

 

“Sorry about that, hope you haven’t been waiting long. What brings you in?” 

 

Now that being murdered seems less probable, Lance gives Dii a once over.  _ Hellooo. _ Maybe a twice over. Big brown eyes and tousled waves balance out a bit of scruff and more than a few tattoos. Actually a lot of tattoos, like a whole body’s worth. Multiple piercings, a fit, slim build, and a lazy smile that houses sharp looking fangs. Lance swallows. 

 

“We’re just looking around.” Keith states, tone short. 

 

“Y-yeah, just, uh, checking you out--I mean--checking out your place, pretty cool stuff, are these maps?” Lance attempts to casually motion towards the drawings but ends up narrowly avoiding smacking Keith in the face. He gets a stare that shoots daggers in response. 

 

“Ah, you like my work? Cool, cool.” Dii looks Keith over from head to toe before turning to Lance. “Here, by all means, check me out,” he smirks, turning his arms over, so his pinky fingers and elbows are touching each other. He wiggles his fingers slightly and a galaxy appears on his arms, superimposed over his other tattoos. It glitters, and Lance gasps slightly as it begins to turn, rotating ever so slowly, across the surface of Dii’s skin. 

 

“It moves?” Lance questions, awestruck. His eyes flick to Keith who is watching him rather than the tattoo, expression unreadable. He’s clearly not as impressed as Lance. 

 

Dii tugs the collar of his shirt down and taps at the base of his throat with one finger. The galaxy appears there, splayed from his collarbones all the way up to his chin. Its rotation quivers slightly from the vibrations as Dii hums in response. “Mhmm. My speciality, actually.” 

 

Lance laughs, presses one hand to his face and shakes his head. Duh. “Keith, these aren’t maps, they’re  _ tattoos _ . We’re in a tattoo parlor.” How could he not have realized that? Sure they’re not on Earth, so it’s not identical, but this place isn’t  _ that _ different from the tattoo shop back home. He had only been to one once, the night of his older brother’s 18th birthday. They’d snuck out and, boy, had his mama been angry. Lance was on house arrest for six long weeks, phone and internet privileges revoked-- and he wasn’t even the one getting the tattoo!

 

“I’ve only been once, with my brother,” Lance admits, the memory causing his voice to come out a little more strained than he intended. At the sound, Keith’s glare softens, his mouth opens to respond, but--

 

Dii moves a little closer to Lance, cutting Keith off, and traces a light finger from Lance’s wrist up his forearm, then holds him lightly behind the elbow. “Ah, so this’ll be your first tattoo,” he states, casual. “I’m a lucky guy, getting at this pretty skin before anyone else….” 

 

“He’s not interested.” Keith removes Dii’s hand from Lance’s arm. Lance looks between them, bewildered by Keith’s obvious ire. “Lance, I think we should head back.” 

 

“Woah, woah, woah, hold it right there, Red,” Lance argues with Keith more out of habit than actual conviction. “Who said I wasn’t interested?”

 

“You’re interested.” Keith throws his hands up, exasperated. “Of course, you’re interested!” 

 

Lance hesitates. His stupid mouth is faster than his brain. Why did he say that? “Well, yeah. I’ve always wanted….a magical...moving...space tattoo. Thing.” He adds as an afterthought: “The ladies love those.” 

 

Keith rolls his eyes. 

 

“Not just ladies,” Dii adds slyly. He clinks the stud in his tongue against his overly long canines in thought. “What kind of piece were you thinking?” 

 

Now that Lance has committed, he’s all in. He immediately begins talking about a giant tattoo of a Blue Lion, but Keith and Dii (surprisingly) agree that’s a terrible idea because (according to Keith) it’s really lame (what does he know about lame, Lance reminds him, Keith has a mullet) but also (according to Dii) something smaller would be better. For his first time (Dii grins, his smile predatory). 

 

“Wait. Can you do Earth?” 

 

“Your home planet? Sure.” Dii hands Lance a tablet. “Pull it up as a reference and I’ll be good to go.” 

 

Luckily it’s more or less the same as the one on board the castle, and, since he’s been studying the system with Coran, Lance has no trouble navigating his way. His fingers fly though tens and hundreds and thousands and millions of lightyears, finally finding that familiar blue speck. 

 

“You boys are a long way from home,” Dii remarks, impressed. “Benny,” he calls over towards the front counter, “Anybody booked in the next couple of vargas?”  

 

The dog cocks his head to one side. “Can’t remember.” he answers cheerfully. “It’s your schedule, check it yourself.” Benny wags his tail as Dii responds with a rude gesture, and rests his head back on his paws, serene. 

 

*

 

After working out payment (Pidge had supplied them with bankcards loaded with the local currency for  _ emergencies _ , totally legally, yep), Dii explains the placement of the tattoo to him: 

 

“So, it’ll start here,” he presses into Lance’s left shoulder blade, “and it’ll move down,” with his finger, he draws an arc from Lance’s shoulder, across the midline of his back, to his right hip, “and then back up,” he continues the imaginary line up Lance’s stomach, his chest, and back over his shoulder, “to where it started. It’ll rotate as it moves, like how it would as it orbits your sun. Cool?”  

 

“Cool!!!” Lance bounces up and down in his seat while Dii gets his supplies ready. 

 

“Okay, Earth-boy, keep your pretty self nice and still,” Dii purrs close to Lance’s ear as he begins. 

 

Lance is tense at first, but...it actually doesn’t hurt nearly as bad as he figured it would. He tells Keith as much and gushes about how badass the finished product is going to be. “Bet you’re jealous now, huh Keith?” 

 

“So jealous.” Keith deadpans to the floor, arms crossed. He hasn’t looked up since Lance took his shirt off. 

 

Lance sticks his tongue out at him. Killjoy. 

 

Actually though...he’s glad. It feels good to argue with Keith again, banter like they always have. This mission is the first time they’ve been alone together since what Lance has termed ‘The Incident.’

 

The body swap thing. Lance had never been so terrified, so self-conscious in his life. He felt guilty that he was secretly glad to have an excuse to be stuck together, but that was nothing compared to the shame he felt at the temptation of Keith’s body….wanting to take advantage of this opportunity to hear his name in Keith’s voice, run his hands through Keith’s hair, explore….

 

Because it soon became painfully obvious that this Freaky Friday kinda shit was gonna be the  _ only _ opportunity Lance would get. He was flustered out of his mind and meanwhile, Keith...well, Keith might as well been lit up with a neon sign that said “Not Interested.” Lance felt like an idiot for ever thinking he had a chance. Plenty had changed since their Garrison days, but Keith Kogane was still way out of his league. 

 

While Lance was mentally short-circuiting about showering, Keith stripped without batting an eye. Lance could do nothing but babble at the idea of sharing a bed, but Keith laid down in his bed completely unperturbed; every interaction made it clear to him that Keith’s only thoughts about Lance were mild irritation at him for being such a pain. 

 

But the worst part, Lance squeezes his hands together, agonizing over the memory, was his emotional meltdown. He had been  _ so close _ to just totally letting go, spilling his guts about his huge crush. And The Hug. Could he have looked any more lame? Honestly. He wanted to have Keith in his arms for how long? And then when it finally happened, finally, what had he done? Cried. On his shoulder. 

 

It’s too embarrassing. 

 

Keith must have thought so too, because in the days following The Incident, their interactions had been horribly awkward. The next morning, Keith had stumbled over a question about his injuries, and when Lance responded that he was fine, Keith practically  _ ran _ out of the room. He seemed to avoid Lance after that-- training more than usual, taking his meals earlier than the other paladins, spending free time alone instead of in the common room. When Lance had tried to initiate conversation, throwing an arm over Keith’s shoulder, casual and joking, Keith had turned so red that his face matched his jacket. Needless to say, Lance took the hint. 

 

Their awkwardness hadn’t gone unnoticed by the rest of the team either. 

 

Lance hadn’t missed Pidge’s resulting eyeroll the first time Keith fell silent as Lance entered the room, then excused himself shortly thereafter. And then it happened again. And again. 

 

“Geez, man, what’d you do this time?” Hunk had questioned. 

 

“Nothing!” he’d shot back. He was forced to reconsider his answer later that day when he’d accidentally walked in on Keith and Shiro talking. He was too far away to hear what they were saying, but judging by the way Keith was muttering with his chin tucked close to his chest, cheeks flushed, his boots scuffing against the floor as he spoke, and how Shiro nodded knowingly, patted Keith on the shoulder...Keith was actually upset. And, Lance figured, it must be his fault. 

 

This mission was Lance’s opportunity to get things back to normal. Casual jokes, playful banter back on-point. Shiro had paired them off for a reason, he was sure of it. He had to make things right. 

 

*

 

“Done.” Dii taps lightly against Lance’s cheek. “Wake up, sleeping beauty, you’re totally zoned out.” 

 

Lance blinks, take the mirror Dii is offering, for him to check out the finished piece. “Woow,” he breaths, angling the mirror so that he can see the reflection of his back better. There, on his shoulder blade, just bigger than his thumbprint, is Earth. It glows, violet-blue fluorescent, as it spins ever-so-slowly against his skin. 

 

“Beautiful, huh?” Dii is proud of his work, rightfully so. “It’ll orbit like I explained earlier, but, yeah, it could go a little off if you get close to home. It’s  _ art, _ ” he emphasizes, “driven by emotion.” 

 

Lance nods, not really sure what Dii is getting at. “Whaddaya think?” he turns to find Keith already staring at him, lips slightly parted. His mouth snaps shuts as he meets Lance’s eyes. 

 

Leaning forward to get a closer look, Keith runs a finger around the perimeter. Although he’s careful to avoid the reddened skin around the piece, it still makes Lance shiver.  

 

“It suits you.” 

 

That could mean a multitude of things, but Lance chooses to take it as a compliment. He beams at Keith, “Thanks, Red!!” and his heart swells. 

 

They leave the shop with instructions on caring for the new tattoo as it heals and contact information for Dii. His hands stray a bit lower than is strictly professional as he gives Lance a business card with a wink and tells him he likes to check up on his work. Lance titters in response, spirits too high to be much concerned. 

 

*

 

They meet up with the others at the suite prepared for them by the Versycans. It’s smack-dab in the middle of the estates housing many of this planet’s upper echelon and it is  _ swanky.  _

 

Allura reports that the crowning ceremony had been beautiful, touching, and thankfully uneventful. She and Coran had spent the day socializing with many of Verscy’s leaders. Shiro had been separated from the rest of the team, assigned to the city’s military base. No sign of Galra involvement there, he reports. 

 

Pidge, sprawled on a chaise lounge, launches into a complex discussion about the city’s technological advancements despite the clear disconnect between the opulence of this estate and the poorer region she and Hunk had been assigned.  

 

“Yeah, our day was pretty boring too,” Lance interrupts, nonchalant, ready to whip off his shirt with a flourish, “except--”

 

“Except Lance let some pervy alien guy give him a weird tattoo.” Keith cuts in. 

 

“Keith! Way to ruin the impact, man,” Lance whines. 

 

“Lance did what?” Allura asks at the same time that,  

 

Pidge grumbles, “Of course he did,” and, 

 

Hunk laughs, “Lance, seriously? Dude,” while, 

 

Shiro just shakes his head. “Lance, that’s not what you were  _ supposed _ to be doing.” 

 

“Okay,” it’s a fair point that he wasn’t technically supposed to be getting a tattoo, so Lance will let most of their comments slide, “but I think it’s unfair for Keith to label Dii as a perv. He didn’t do anything  _ weird _ .” 

 

“Lance, the entire time he was leering at you! He looked like he wanted to eat you!” Keith shouts, his face flushed. “He grabbed your ass on the way out!!” 

 

“Yeah, well,” Lance sputters, “you liked his dog!!”

 

“So?! Benny was cute!” 

 

“So! Dii was hot!” 

 

“Enough!” Shiro has a palm to his forehead. “Lance, the next time you’re on a mission with the locals, try to stay on task. Regardless of how ‘hot’ they are.” 

 

Lance nods, glum. Shiro’s ‘disappointed’ look gets him everytime. 

 

“And Keith, am I right in assuming you were the reason you guys strayed from the assigned route in the first place?” 

 

Keith nods, stiff.  

 

After an extended briefing on the next day’s assignment, which is then further lengthened by a lecture on  _ following the plan _ , Lance finally manages to escape to his room. He needs his beauty rest, after all. He also needs to be in a separate room from Keith, who’s lips are still pulled into a slight frown as he listens to Shiro, ignoring Lance altogether. 

 

*

 

Lance wakes, hazily coming out of a deep dream. His room isn’t usually this dark, or this cold. He pulls his knees up closer to his chest. _ Did Angel crank the air conditioning again? Mama is gonna kill her if she finds out. _ He smirks into his pillow at the idea of his sister getting yelled at...wait. 

 

He sits up. 

 

For a moment, just a moment, he thought he was back home. Not his bunk in the castle, or his dorm bed at the Garrison, but in his actual bed, napping in his room at home. He closes his eyes, imagines himself back there. He can practically hear the sound of dishes being put away in the kitchen, his siblings squabbling over the television downstairs, the drawl of his older sister in the next room over as she chats endlessly on the phone with Dominque, her best friend since the sixth grade.  

 

This room is nothing like his room at home. It’s huge. All the furniture looks expensive-- gaudy, gilded stuff, spotless and plush. He thinks about his bed back home, with the Disney princess stickers stuck to the legs, and the rug covering the KoolAid stain on the carpet that his Ma never really forgave him for. 

 

Not only is this not his room, but it’s a million, trillion miles away. Suddenly, he’s crying. Big, gulping sobs that make no sense as he fumbles for the lights. Suddenly, he hates this place. Suddenly, he has to be anywhere but here. 

 

He takes two deep breaths in an effort to compose himself and snaps open the door, remembering halfway to the kitchenette that he should be quiet because everyone else is probably asleep. He pulls out a pitcher of water from the alien-fridge and shakily pours some into a little bowl he gets from the cabinet. “Cruddy planet doesn’t even have cups,” he sniffles, sipping. 

 

“The cups are in the lower cabinets, near your right foot.” Keith calls over softly. 

 

“That makes  _ no sense _ ,” he grumbles to himself, and Keith laughs quietly in response. “Why are your ears so good?” Lance wonders, coming to sit next to Keith on the sofa.

 

“You’re just loud.” He replies, without opening his eyes. He’s sitting with his legs and arms tightly crossed and his head tilted back to rest against the wall behind the cushions. He looks tense. 

 

“You okay?” Lance taps on Keith’s knee, no recollection of their argument just a few hours prior. “How come you’re not asleep?” 

 

“Couldn’t get comfortable.” Keith responds gruffly. “Everything in my room was too fancy. Felt like I would mess it up.” He opens his eyes and lifts his head to look at Lance. “You?” 

 

“Uhh, same.” 

 

Keith raises an eyebrow in response. “Okay.” 

 

“Actually.” Lance wipes his dripping nose on the inside collar of his tee shirt. Gross. “Dream.” 

 

“Ah.” Keith nods knowingly. 

 

“It wasn’t a bad dream. Like a nightmare? No...I just...for a second, I thought, when I woke up, that I was at home.” Lance feels his throat start to get watery and he wills it to stop. He doesn’t want to look like a basket case in front of Keith. Again. He swallows. “We’re so far away.” 

 

Keith nods again, uncrossing his legs to turn more towards Lance on the sofa. He doesn’t say anything, but his dark eyes are expectant, waiting for Lance to continue. 

 

It’s almost too much. 

 

This. This is why. 

 

Not because Keith is gorgeous (refined features, pale skin, the slope of his neck as he tilts his head, listening), or hot (toned, lithe form, effortlessly slung over the couch), or cute (the pout of his lips as he waits, a little awkward in his hesitation)--- all true, but it’s more than that. 

 

It’s the fire in his smirk as he returns every jibe Lance throws at him. The way his scowl can dissolve in an instant into a ridiculous grin if Lance cracks a joke just right. The way they can go from at each other’s throats to having each other’s backs, an unspoken, immutable loyalty. The way he’s here now, looking at Lance like he’s  _ everything _ . Just...listening. 

 

This is why, even though he has no chance with Keith, even though it’ll be awkward later on and he’ll say stupid things and regret it all, this is why Lance pulls himself closer to Keith until eventually he rests his head on Keith’s shoulder. Keith jerks, just a little, at the unexpected touch, but soon relaxes, his arm curling around Lance’s back. 

 

Lance continues, purposefully ignoring the way his ears are burning. It’s easier to talk like this, staring down at their knees, side by side on the sofa. He keeps his voice low because it’s not really the words that matter much, it’s the fact that he can feel Keith nodding against him as he says them, soft hair tickling his face. 

 

He becomes less coherent, pauses lengthening between his words as he gradually falls asleep, heart tangled between the feeling of homesickness and the warmth of Keith. 

 

*

 

Hunk isn’t the kind of guy who sings while he works. 

 

Instead, he mumbles; a steady-stream of consciousness escaping from his mouth, usually only partially related to what he’s actually doing. 

 

Lance can hear him now, bustling around in the kitchen, vigorously whipping something in a bowl while he mutters to himself. 

 

“Hunk,” Lance whines, tugging the blanket over his face and snuggling into the couch cushions, “you’re thinking too loud.” 

 

The sound of batter being poured, followed by sizzling. “Uhhh, nope. People who sleep on the couch instead of their perfectly good beds don’t get to complain about breakfast noise.” 

 

Okay. Fair point. Especially since whatever he’s making smells amazing. 

 

Lance drags himself off the couch, wrapping the duvet around him like a giant robe. He plops down on one of the ornate stools at the island overlooking the kitchenette. “Pancakes?”

 

Hunk stirs a saucepan with far too much enthusiasm for this early in the morning. “Yeah, I found these things that are basically blueberries and it’s like, if you don’t make fresh blueberry compote and drizzle that all over a stack of hotcakes, what are you even doing with your life?” He stands poised over the griddle, ready to flip over the first batch. “By the way, what’s on your face dude?”  

 

Lance swears. “Oh  _ quiznack _ no, is it a zit? I  _ knew _ I should have waited to do that clarifying mask until  _ after _ the mission, it always breaks...” He grabs a spoon and angles it just so, peering at his reflection. “Huh?”  

 

A tiny Earth glimmers on his cheek, spinning just underneath his cheekbone. Okay. “That’s not supposed to be there?” The tattoo was supposed to move, but there is a set path that Dii said it would follow. It shouldn’t randomly be on his face. 

 

“Weird. Hey, could you pass me a platter? I think these first ones are done.” Hunk points to the large plate on the other side of Lance. 

 

“Uh, buddy, can we focus? This is kind of a big deal??” Lance’s voice cracks, as he waves a hand around his face. 

 

“Pancakes? Nice!” Pidge comes into the kitchen, her timing suspiciously perfect, and begins loading up a plate. After taking a bite, she motions to her temple with the end of her fork, “Is that supposed to be like that?” 

 

“No! It’s not!” Lance picks up his blanket and haughtily strides out the kitchen, nearly running into Shiro on his way down the hall. 

 

“Good morning, Lance. Hunk said he was making a big batch of pancakes...where are you going?” 

 

“Morning, Shiro. You, uh, go ahead and enjoy, I gotta take care of something first.” 

 

Shiro nods. “Can you tell Keith when you’re done? Blueberry pancakes are his favorite…”

 

“Sure thing.” Lance waves behind him as he continues down the hall to his room. 

 

“Oh yeah,” Shiro calls after him, “Looks good,” he says, pointing to his face. 

 

Auuuuughhhh. 

 

Lance grabs one of the fluffy white towels his room has in excess and twists the taps of the sink to full blast, formulating a plan. He’ll go back to Dii, he decides, working his morning facial cleanser into a lather. There must be some kind of problem, probably happens all the time. The tattoo artist will definitely be able to fix it. Lance thinks back to the small shop, tucked away from the crowds of the busy market street. Will he be able to find it again? Keith probably won’t be too keen on helping him return there….

 

Keith. Lance claps the towel over his eyes and groans. Nope. Definitely not gonna think about blabbing his heart out and falling asleep on Keith’s shoulder. Definitely not going to remember how good he smelled, or how warm he was, or how gentle his voice was, answering Lance with quiet murmurs late at night. Something squeezes deep in Lance’s chest. That didn’t happen. Definitely did not happen. Noooope.

 

Amendment to today’s plan: avoid Keith as much as possible. He just needs a little while to get these feelings back under control, and then everything will be fine. He’ll be normal. Yep. 

 

Sighing at his life in general, Lance leans forward towards the mirror to take a better look at the mark. And…

 

It’s not there? 

 

Pulling his pajama shirt off, Lance twists around. Earth is just a smidge lower on his shoulder blade than it was yesterday, making its descent down his back. Exactly where it is supposed to be. 

 

What. The heck. 

 

Lance finishes getting changed into clothes for the day, keeping an eye on the tattoo the whole time. As he leaves the room, he takes one last peek at his shoulder. “Stay there,” he commands, eyes narrowed. 

 

His stomach rumbles. It’s definitely time for breakfast, but… if he turns up without Keith, Shiro will question him. He pokes his head in Keith’s room, after a halfhearted knock to the doorframe, “Keith?” Not there. “Oh well, I tried!” He turns toward the kitchen. 

 

“Looking for the Red Paladin?” 

 

“Oh Coran! Hey! Nah, I was just on my way to breakfast and figured I’d check, you know, anyways, howareyoutoday?”

 

Coran beams and makes a weird analogy about how well he slept that goes over Lance’s head. “Sounds good,” Lance responds smoothly. “Well, I have some pancakes to eat, see you around.” 

 

Coran tugs on his mustache. “Back in my day, we had an expression: Heedle the chaphur today to avoid kuzblaking a chendur tomorrow.” 

 

“Ooohkay.” Lance nods. 

 

“It means that you shouldn’t put something off just because it makes you uncomfortable.” Coran looks pointedly towards Keith’s empty room. 

 

“Oh.” Lance scratches his face sheepishly. “Well that’s...good to remember. In general.” 

 

Coran pats him on the shoulder. “Or right now. I believe I saw the Red Paladin heading towards the East Garden, should you need to find him. Well then! Princess Allura has asked me to help her prepare for the day’s ceremony.” 

 

* 

 

‘The East Garden’ makes it sound like he’s headed to some fancy grounds with fountains and bushes trimmed into weird shapes or whatever, but, really, compared to the rest of this place, the East Garden is fairly plain. A secluded grove, there’s not much there besides a few benches and a path to the main grounds. 

 

Keith, apparently doing some cool-down stretches following a run, straightens up when he sees Lance. His eyes dart to the side like he’s calculating the most efficient escape route. 

 

“Oh no you don’t!” Lance puts up a hand as if keeping Keith in place. 

 

“Don’t what?” Keith says, frowning. 

 

“Don’t run away! And avoid me for a week like last time!” 

 

“What are you talking about, Lance?” 

 

Lance crosses his arms. Deep breaths. Heedle the chaphur and all that. “The last time I spilled my guts you got all weird afterwards. It was super awkward.” 

 

Keith runs a hand through his hair and open and closes his mouth. “Sorry?” he finally decides on. 

 

Heaving out a big sigh, Lance sprawls down on one of the benches and looks up at Keith. He has a faint sheen of perspiration over his skin, the color high is in his cheeks and the tips of his ears, his hair falls loosely over his shoulders. Lance thinks about how unfair it is for someone to look so good after they’ve been running around in the dirt all morning, especially after barely sleeping the night before. 

 

“It’s my fault.” 

 

Keith looks alarmed at the admission; Lance forces a smile as he explains: “I made you uncomfortable. And then I did it again. I’m really sorry.” 

 

“No!” Keith denies, taking a step towards him. Lance blanches. Keith continues, just as vehement: “I wasn’t-- you didn’t-- it’s not your fault.” 

 

“It’s not?” 

 

“I’m not good at….that kind of thing...but, I don’t mind. If you need to talk. It’s okay with me.” Keith is resolute. 

 

“Okay.” Lance can’t help how tender his tone becomes. “Thanks Keith.” 

 

Keith nods, just a quick jut of the chin, clearly relieved to put an end to that conversation. He holds up his hands hopefully, “Wanna spar?” 

 

Lance throws his head back and barks out a laugh. At Keith’s confused face, the tension melts out of him and he gets up, dusting himself off.  “No, I  _ want _ to eat breakfast. We’re late but I’m sure Hunk kept some warm for us. C’mon.” 

 

If Lance didn’t know better, he would say that Keith was blushing. He ducks his head, “Oh. No...I’m going to finish my workout and then I’ll be there later...you go.” 

 

“Keii~ith,” Lance singsongs, “Blue~berry pancakes~” 

 

Keith snaps to attention. “This planet has blueberries? And pancakes?” 

 

That’s all the convincing Keith needs. Blueberry pancakes, as a favorite food, who would’ve thought? Lance makes a mental note to thank Shiro profusely. As they make their way back to the kitchen, Lance cross-examines Keith about how he feels about other breakfast foods. “Bacon or sausage?”

 

“Bacon.” 

 

“How do you like your eggs?” 

 

“Sunnyside up.” 

 

“What are your thoughts about grits?”

 

Keith launches into a heated diatribe detailing the do’s and don’ts of grits but stops himself halfway through, suspicious. “Why are you asking me all this stuff?” 

 

“So I can make you breakfast in bed, obviously.” Lance grins sweetly, batting his eyelashes,  enjoying the glower he gets in response. 

 

*

 

Why this ceremony is a two day affair is beyond Lance. Just how many nobles does this hoity-toity planet have? Last he checked, he signed up for saving the universe from a malevolent dictator, not playing bodyguard to a bunch of out-of-touch bourgeois.  

 

Today’s task is a slight variation from yesterday. All the important people processed in the previous day, so he and Keith are supposed to join Allura in the main hall where the ceremony is actually taking place. Shiro, Pidge, and Hunk are outside, monitoring the entrances and exits. Coran is preparing the Castle of Lions for their departure following the ceremony. 

 

Lance tugs at the collar of his required ensemble. It is  _ not _ flattering. The whole thing is an ungodly shade of yellow-tan-khaki that shouldn’t exist, except for a sweeping cream colored neckpiece, from the back of which hangs a long, heavy, black cape. The neckpiece is topped off by little shoulder rounds with gold tassels, and matching silk ties in the front. It would be bad enough as is, but it also doesn’t seem to fit him at all-- the chest is baggy around his torso and the sleeves are so short they leave about an inch of his wrists exposed. Plus-- and this is the reason that Lance thinks that maaaaaybe they should just leave this planet now and let whatever happens happen-- the pants are  _ pleated. _

 

He grimaces. 

 

A knock at his door. “It’s open!” He calls out, tightening his belt. Maybe if the pants are higher up on his waist, it’ll be less obvious they are an atrocity in fabric form…

 

He smooths down the front, hopeful about the results. Nope, still heinous. Sighing, he looks up, and is met with dark eyes and poorly concealed bemusement. 

 

“Shut up.”

 

“I didn’t say anything!” Keith holds up his hands in mock surrender. 

 

“Yeah, but you were thinking it.” Lance says, eyes narrowed. “Okay, why!” he announces to no one, arms wide, “Why do I look like the yard sale of Prince Charming threw up on me, but Keith looks like a hero out of a sci-fi movie?!” 

 

Keith’s lips purse as a smile threatens to peek through. 

 

It’s indisputable that Keith had better luck in the costume assignment. First of all, his clothes actually fit him. The navy blue suit looks tailor made in the way that it sweeps down from his shoulders, cinches at his waist,  and remains slim fit in the legs, hugging the curve of his ass, his thighs. His collar is embellished in silver instead of gold, which complements his skin tone, and his cape is much shorter and colored a deep plum. 

 

“You actually look good.” Lance grumbles. 

 

Keith grunts noncommittally in response, then holds up a silver circlet. “Except for this. They said I have to wear it, but,” he shoves the headband in his hair, pulling his fringe off his forehead, demonstrating. “See?” he says, exasperated, motioning to how his hair sticks up behind the headband. A section of hair comes undone and falls back against his forehead. He pulls the headband out of his hair, exasperated. 

 

Clicking his tongue, Lance wiggles his fingers,  _ here, hand it over.  _ “You just have no  _ finesse _ , Red.” He stands directly in front of Keith and carefully smoothes his hair, brushing it back into place with his fingers, the circlet held between his teeth. “Now, like this,” Lance hums, deftly sliding the headband into Keith’s hair. He arranges the hair around Keith’s ears so it falls more naturally. 

 

Without the hair covering his forehead, Keith looks much different. All of his features are visible, he looks a bit younger...perhaps more innocent? He raises his chin to look up at Lance, eyes wide and trusting. “You really do have the cutest forehead,” Lance decides. Keith frowns, brows knitting together, and Lance smooths over one with his thumb. It’d be so simple, to shift, ever so slightly, so simple to kiss him right now…

 

“You’re so pretty,” he breathes, about to lean down….

 

“Don’t.” Keith says, expression darkening. He pulls Lance’s hand away from his face, gripping tight on his wrist before letting it drop back to Lance’s side. He steps back, “Stop saying stuff like that to me.”  

 

Lance feels panic rise up in his throat like bile, heart racing. “I was just saying what’s true,” he tries, face hot. 

 

“It’s not funny.” Keith’s expression is hard as he wrenches the headband out of his hair, shaking his head to make the hair fall back into place. “Not everyone’s a flirt. Some people will take it the wrong way.” The corners of his mouth are pulled down as he turns away and Lance hates it, hates that he was responsible for the hunch of Keith’s shoulders as he stalks out of the room, angry. 

*

 

Lance slumps down. He’s tucked away in one of the balconies overlooking the hall. A vantage point for surveying the ceremony from above, although right now the only thing he’s surveying is the inside of his eyelids. He sits with his head bowed and hands knit over the back of his neck. 

 

_ Stupid, stupid, stupid. That was stupid. Why did he say that? Why did he do that?! _

 

Allura’s voice comes through the comm: “Paladins, any problems?”

 

“We’re looking good out here,” Shiro messages back, with affirmations from Hunk and Pidge soon following. 

 

“Nothing to report.” Keith’s voice is like a slap in the face. Lance recoils at the sound of it alone. 

 

“Lance?” Allura seems surprised to have to elicit his feedback. 

 

“All good,” he manages. 

 

The drone of the announcer down below seems to go on endlessly, as Lance replays the exchange with Keith over and over in his mind. What a disaster. 

 

He moves to get up (can’t be too depressed to save the universe, right?) but he steps on the cape, falling over and choking himself the process, “Shitty cape,” he swears, “this whole quiznaking planet..”

 

“Lance, buddy, you okay?” Hunk asks him, concern evident in his voice. 

 

“Just peachy, my guy,” Lance replies, ready to chuck this outfit over the edge of the balcony and spend the rest of the mission in his boxers.  _ Stupid sleeves aren’t even long enough for his arms… _ . 

 

Hold up. Lance looks down at his wrist to see a shimmery mark peeking out. He pushes up the sleeve and sure enough, the tattoo is there, spinning idly on his wrist. The exact spot that Keith had grabbed him. 

 

His hand raises to his cheek, where the mark had been this morning...the exact spot that had been resting on Keith’s shoulder. 

 

Oh no. Oh hell no. 

 

So. _ Not only _ does he have a giant, unrequited space-crush on his rival turned friend slash teammate, he  _ also _ has a tattoo that alerts the entire universe to his problem? Well. That’s just great isn’t it? 

 

Lance closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. All dramatics aside, this is a problem. How’s he supposed to explain this? He lives with two actual geniuses and the rest of the group isn’t exactly stupid. If he could put it together, they will too. And he can explain away a rivalry, even laugh off a crush, but this….The tattoo is supposed to be moved by emotions.  _ Specifically related to home. _ Feeling like someone is your home, besides being undeniably corny, is also a lot like being in love with them. 

 

And. Well. Love is a pretty strong word, even for Lance. 

 

*

 

“Princess!!” Coran’s voice resounds through the comm, jolting Lance from where ever that train of thought was taking him. “There’s been some kind of breach in the castle’s systems! And it looks like Galra ships are not far off!”

 

Confusion blares through his speakers as Lance gets up, already headed towards Blue. Coran summarizes the situation, succinctly: “We’re under attack! Help!” 

 

“Paladins, prepare to fight! Get to your lions, quickly!” 

 

“Yes!!” Lance cheers. “Oh, I mean, too bad I have to change back into my armor and leave behind this lovely suit, whatever, will I do?!”

 

He’s met with a chuckle from Hunk and a snort from Pidge, the others already focused on the battle at hand. 

 

But, he’s not laughing after he launches in Blue and sees what they’re up against. 

 

*

 

“It was a set up!!” Pidge is letting out a string of curses as she tries to work around the virus that’s quickly proliferating throughout the castle’s system. There’s only so much she can do remotely from her lion. “I have to get back to the castle.” 

 

“Everyone, stand firm,” Shiro rallies them. “We’ll give Pidge cover so she can help Coran and Allura sort this out.” 

 

“I don’t want to burst anyone’s bubble, but I don’t know how much firmer I can stand,” Lance trills, lining up shot after shot. The enemies aren’t stopping and he’s barely able to defend himself, much less anyone else. 

 

Keith growls in assent, flying from drone to drone in a blaze of Red, ripping them to pieces before they even know he’s there. 

 

“Yeah, if we can’t form Voltron, we’re gonna need to retreat, like pronto,” Hunk calls out. “I’m getting creamed over here.” He adds as an afterthought: “And not like, creampuffs, or whipped cream, or those miniature cups they give you in restaurants for your coffee. Like the bad kind of creamed, like I’m about to--” 

 

“Hunk’s right,” Shiro decides. “Fall back, team!” 

 

“Paladins, I’m going to open up a wormhole as soon as you’re safely in range!” Allura’s voice rings through their lions. “Verscy was clearly not the intended target here. At any rate, we can’t be of much aid with the castle compromised from within.”

 

“Not compromised for long, Princess.” Coran butts in. “Number five and I will soon have this virus licked like a Pegulian Namshutner, don’t you worry!” 

 

They make their way back safety, no easy task, especially as another wave of drones rolls out of the main fleet. Keith grabs one in Red’s maw and throws it, careening, into several others. Lance takes quick aim, hitting just so, and manages to explode the whole group. 

 

“Nice!” Keith cheers, flying past him. They’re almost safely within the castle’s defenses. Lance takes stock of the team. Pidge is already inside, Shiro and Hunk made it back shortly thereafter. Keith is right behind him, nearly there. He turns Blue, backing towards the castle, so that he can continue to defend with cover fire up until the last moments. 

 

“Okay, Princess, ready when you are!” he notifies her as he finishes closing in on the castle, wormhole already forming. 

 

“--ance, st-- r--t --, Allura!! Wa--” 

 

“Huh? Keith? Repeat that?” Lance strains to hear through the static. The wormhole is shimmering around him, but he no longer sees the castle. “Guys?” he calls out. Nothing. 

 

And then, like the snap of a rubber band, he’s flung out of the wormhole into space. He has no idea where he is, but one thing is immediately clear: he’s alone. 

 

Or rather, he’s the only ship here. 

 

Probably because no one else would be stupid enough to fly through an asteroid storm. 

 

“Quiznak!” Blue smacks into an asteroid before Lance is even aware of his surroundings. He tries to adjust and ends up ramming her into another asteroid on the other side. She roars in irritation. “I know, girl, I’m trying!” But it’s honestly no use. Up or down, left or right, they are being assaulted on all sides. Visibility is low from the dust generated from all the collisions. A giant rock slams into Blue from above, shaking the cockpit. Lance clutches to his seat, nearly blacking out as the resulting G’s threaten to bring back breakfast. When he comes to, all his screens are dark, but he can see through his mental link with Blue that, despite the asteroids on all sides, ultimately, they’re crashing down, caught in a planet’s gravitational pull. 

 

“Just great!” He shouts, “Oh, remember Voltron?” He snarks at himself, fingers flying over his screens, desperately trying to get his controls back online. “How did the Blue Lion go down again? In some awesome fight against Zarkon, was it? Naaaaaah. Her dumbass pilot rammed her into a rock and then crashed her into a planet. Pretty lame.” 

 

Blue growls at him. This is hardly the time for self pity. The screens flicker back to life, and, in the first stroke of good luck that day, he manages to pull her up in time. They still land on the planet, but it’s less of a deadly crash and more of a...graceless, non-consensual descent. 

 

He’ll take it. 

 

*

 

Preliminary scans show not only a breathable atmosphere, but….a population similar to Earth’s? He flips through the images as they load on his display. Houses, what looks like a school, a shopping mall. He laughs. He crash landed right outside the suburbs. 

 

“We gotta get you hid, Blue,” he tells her, easing her down into a low crouch. It’s dark and they’re in a forest, but the nearest houses are a little too near. The last thing he needs is some Area 51 nonsense, local government capturing them and covering it up and being experimented on and all that jazz. They move out of the crash site and with Blue’s (limited) stealth technology and Lance’s placement of some choice tree branches they should be fine. Probably. 

 

Lance stands and admires his work. Not too shabby for just getting sucked out of a wormhole, then flying through some crazy asteroid storm and crash landing on an alien planet. The plan now is to do a little reconnaissance, check out the area as best he can while it’s still dark. In the morning, he’ll work on moving somewhere more secluded, if need be, and getting communicators back online to contact his friends. Easy peasy. 

 

Behind him, the underbrush crackles underfoot. 

 

* 

 

Lance whips around, bayard in hand, fully prepared to defend himself. 

 

It takes him a moment to see his ‘attacker:’ a little boy who looks to be about nine or ten. He could pass for a human, were it not for a set of round ears on the top of his head and long whiskers coming out of his round cheeks. 

 

He drops the flashlight he’s holding when he sees Lance’s gun and Lance catches a glimpse of a long, fluffed out tail. 

 

Lance collapses his bayard and holds his hands up in what he hopes is a non-threatening manner. 

 

The boy watches him with round, round eyes. Lance smiles. Okay, whatever else this planet has going for it, this kid is adorable. 

 

What does he look like? Definitely not a dog or a cat, not a mouse, not exactly a rabbit...Lance struggles to put his finger on what the boy reminds him of…. 

 

“A CHINCHILLA!” he shouts, smacking his fist into his palm as the realization hits him. 

 

“Bless you.” the boy responds automatically. 

 

“Thank you,” Lance responds without thinking. 

 

“IT TALKS!!”

“IT TALKS!!” 

 

Combined with all the stress of the day and the rush of adrenaline from his crash, the moment hits him just right and Lance laughs until he’s crying, clutching his stomach, eventually forced to sit down. “Oh right,” he begins once recovered, wiping his eyes, where are his manners? “I come in peace.” 

 

“I can’t just  _ believe _ that,” the boy scoffs. 

 

Lance shrugs. “My name’s Lance. I’m one of the good guys. What’s your name?” 

 

The boy’s name is Steven, he says, with a ‘v,’ not a ‘ph.’ He goes by Stevie though, and he’s actually 12 years old and just looks young for his age. 

 

Lance soon finds that Stevie is not one to stay quiet for long. He’s clearly smart, digging deeper with every question he asks Lance, and also not giving much away, despite how excited he is.  

 

“Okay,” Stevie announces, a few minutes later. “You’re safe.” He tells Lance he can spend the night at his house, provided he stays in the basement and does NOT tell his mother. 

 

At first, Lance politely declines. But then Stevie tells him it’s Friday night, and there’s probably still leftover pizza. The guys had just left from their weekly game. 

 

“Garlic knots?” Lance squeaks. 

 

“Obviously.” Stevie replies, walking back to his bike. “Follow me.” 

 

*

 

Keith slams his fist into the tabletop. 

 

He hears Hunk set down his glass of water, as they all look at him, but his eyes are on Allura. “You should have  _ never _ wormholed us out with the castle still unstable.” 

 

Her gaze is level as she replies, “There was no way of knowing it would react like that. You were in danger. Voltron--” 

 

“If you haven’t noticed, Princess,” Keith spits, “There is no Voltron since  _ we lost the Blue Lion _ .” 

 

Hunk says, voice breaking, “Keith, it’s okay, we’ll find him.” 

 

“I can--” Pidge starts, hopeful, but quiets as soon as Keith turns, ready to direct his anger at another target. 

 

Shiro cuts him off, physically shifting to stand between her and Keith. “Keith. Go cool your head.” 

 

Still seeing red, Keith finds himself in the training room without even thinking about it. “Eight gladiators. Level two,” he snarls, shrugging into a fighting stance as he unsheathes his bayard. He doesn’t want a challenge. He wants something he can  _ crush. _

 

*

 

“Nooooooooooo,” Stevie trails off into a whimper. 

 

Bev looks at him, unimpressed. 

 

“And then?” Harry motions for him to continue, shooting Elliot a nasty look as the smaller boy reaches over to steal some of his M&Ms. 

 

“And then,” Stevie continues, slyly leaning over his notebook, waggling his nose to make his whiskers twitch, he moves a piece on the table in front of them. 

 

The players collectively groan. Lance grins from over the back of the couch where he’s been watching them for the past hour. The game seemed complicated initially, but now he can see Pidge and Hunk and himself having tons of fun with it. It would certainly help to pass the long hours in between training and battles and space goo. 

 

“Are you serious? The same illithid we defeated three sessions ago?” Bev folds her arms, a slight swish at the end of her fluffy tail. “I don’t think it’s very probable that it could regenerate that quickly.” 

 

Stevie glares at her, raises his chin and reiterates the scene, just as theatrically as the first time. 

 

Harry leans back in his chair, balancing on the back legs as he throws out ideas to the rest of the party about their next move. No one has anything satisfactory to add and Lance gets up, stretching his long limbs as he strides over to look at their map. 

 

“Maybe we should ask our resident alien for help,” Bev says drily. 

 

“Well, the way I see it,” Lance begins, 

 

“Not so fast,” Stevie raises his notebook to silence him, and hands him a character sheet and die. “If you’re going to play, it’s house rules.” 

 

*

 

Keith paces back and forth in the corridor between his room and Lance’s. It’s been days. 

 

The castle is quieter without him here. A week without the tap of his foot as he eats, his yawn as the team reviews battle simulations, his running commentary during training, and a hundred other habits...there’s an inescapable, glaring absence. 

 

Keith adds direction to his pacing and makes his way down to Green’s hangar, where he knows he’ll find Pidge and Hunk and possibly Shiro. He’s already asked them about their progress in searching for Lance once this morning, but he wants to ask again. 

 

He can’t stop thinking about Lance at his most vulnerable. He’s torturing himself, remembering hot tears on his shoulder, the boy who cries when he’s reminded to take care of himself. The boy who cries when he dreams of home. Who apologizes for it later with a brave smile. 

 

“Any updates?” he says in lieu of a greeting when he arrives at Green’s hangar. 

 

A small shake of Shiro’s head indicates no. Pidge’s face is illuminated by the screen in front of her. She bites her lip in between stilted explanation of what they’ve been trying so far. Hunk remains silent, resting his face on one hand, deep in thought.  

 

Keith tightens his fist, frustrated. “He needs us.” He says it low, not meaning for anyone else to hear, but Shiro cocks his head at the admission.  

 

Shiro asks him, cautiously, “Did you ever think that you might be selling Lance short?” 

 

Keith looks at him, taken aback. 

 

Hunk chimes in, fondly: “Yeah, don’t underestimate him. I’ve seen him talk his way out of trouble more times than I can count.” 

 

“He’s an excellent tactician.” Pidge shrugs. “Thinks fast, good judgement, probably reads people better than any of us.” 

 

Shiro nods. “It’s true his specialty is long-ranged combat, but he’s improved his hand-to-hand skills as well. I have every confidence that he can defend himself if the need arises.” He places a heavy hand on Keith’s back. “I know you want to see Lance back here, safe and sound. We all do. But, I trust Lance. Whatever challenges he’s facing, he can overcome them.” 

 

*

 

“Okay but here’s a question.” Lance doesn’t take his eyes off the television as he motions for Stevie to pass him the bag of Cheetos. Alien-Cheetos. Whatever. “Why are the special effects in this one so much worse than in the last three?” 

 

Stevie passes him the bag and answers, but not before General Whoever gets what’s coming to him. “Like I said earlier, even though those were prequels, this one was actually made first.” 

 

“Gotcha.” 

 

*

 

Keith lays sprawled out on his bed, listening to the intermittent puffing of the ventilation system in his room. The hum of what passes for silence amongst all the ship’s technology, a nearly inaudible click, and then the fan kicks back on. 

 

He hasn’t been sleeping well. 

 

_ “I’d do it again.” _

 

_ “ _ _ I just think, there’s more to Lance than he lets on.” _

 

_ “Lance McClain is a pretty big downgrade if you’re used to being Keith Kogane.” _

 

_ “Did you ever think that you might be selling Lance short?”  _

 

Keith is a practical person. He knows what he’s good at: flying, hand-to-hand, memorizing tactical scenarios, triaging problems, prioritizing needs...he’s quick to action, but not necessarily rash; his decisions are logical. He’s strong, he knows this. 

 

He also realizes his weaknesses. It’s not his intention, but he can come off as aloof, callous, blunt. He’s inarticulate, bad at socializing. He’s not great at reading between the lines, especially when it comes to the nuances of relationships. It’s a skill he’s never honed, because he’s never particularly needed to. He’s strong, but he’s been strong only for himself. 

 

What he’s come to realize, ever since Lance took the hit for him in the battle at Harmon, since they switched bodies and everything that’s happened from that point, is this: Lance is equally strong, but his strength is for others. 

 

The effort he puts in to lightening the mood, to fostering relationships between the team, to filling the emptiness of space with emotions and bad jokes and worse flirting, and memories of the home they’re fighting for in the first place. 

 

It’s changed how he thinks about Lance. 

 

At first, his instinct was to protect, to be the shield for that vulnerability. The shoulder to cry on. Never a role he’s had before, never a role he thought he would want. He never knew he would long to comfort, until he found he wasn’t quite sure how, with Lance curled against him, half asleep and mumbling and sad, and all Keith could do was nod. He wanted to be a shelter for Lance, to keep him safe. So many people have drifted out of Keith’s life, when he finds a person that is precious to him, it’s hard to not want to keep him close. 

 

But that was a miscalculation on his part. Lance doesn’t need a protector. Keith realizes this poring through the communications data seven days after Lance’s disappearance. He’s reading his own words, panic stricken, nearly incomprehensible directly following the wormhole, and it slips into focus, as clear as blue eyes looking down into his: this isn’t what either of them want. 

 

“Keith,” Pidges voice echoes out of the castle’s communication system, pulling Keith out of his thoughts. “We found him.” 

 

*

 

Lance closes the fridge with one foot, having slid the orange juice back into its designated spot on the door. Rachel, Stevie’s mom, is a saint for not saying anything about her son’s sudden voracious appetite. Munching on the alien-Poptarts held the hand not carrying his glass of OJ, he makes his way back to the basement. 

 

He settles down on the couch, licking his fingers so as not to get crumbs on the remote. He flips through the channels, although there’s only four, and sighs. Another day of tinkering with the communications equipment in front of daytime television. Although he’s learned a significant amount about summer trends for whiskered-soccer moms, the home shopping networks on Petcha leave much to be desired. 

 

This is his tenth day of being separated from his friends. 

 

Last night, just like the previous nine, he spent working on Blue. She’s definitely ‘healing’ herself, to an extent, but not as fast as he would have thought. She’ll fly, but his weapons systems are still offline, and his communicator remains completely shot.  

 

And Petcha doesn’t have technology advanced enough for him to send a message out into deep space. Not for the first time, he wishes Pidge or Hunk were here. Pidge whipped something up out of space-trash; she’d work miracles with this stuff. 

 

Shiro is probably disappointed in him. Lance shakes his head, he can’t think about it now. He can’t dwell on the idea that his being here means that his friends are one lion down and no Voltron. 

 

And he definitely can’t sit here and think about Keith. 

 

He can’t think about... 

 

“Lance!” 

 

The door slams open and Stevie crashes down the stairs, taking them two at a time. Elliot and Bev trail behind him, breathless. He can hear Harry upstairs, shouting something into the telephone. 

 

“What? What’s going on? Why aren’t you at school?” 

 

Stevie grabs the remote off the coffee table, “Because, rocks for brains, look!!” He flips over to the news and jabs the air, “Are you seeing this??” 

 

There, on channel 7 for the whole world to see, is the Red Lion. “What the f--” Lance looks towards the kids, “What the  _ French _ toast!”

 

Red is still far away, but even at this distance he can tell that Keith is piloting her down towards his crash site. “They found me,” Lance’s face breaks into the widest smile.  

 

“Is it a bad guy?” Elliot whispers, clutching his tail. Lance picks him up and squeezes him tight. “No way. He’s a good guy. The best guy.” He sets Elliot down and winks at Bev. “Babe, remember when you start breaking hearts to let ‘em down gently, for me.” She scoffs at him, but chokes a little as she tells him to shut up. 

 

He turns towards Stevie, hand extended. “Stevie, it’s been an honor.” He shakes his hand solemnly. “I can’t thank you enough for everything...seriously. I’ve met a ton of cool people around the galaxy, but you and your friends are some of the coolest.”  

 

Stevie grins. “Wanna borrow my bike?” 

 

Lance grabs his helmet and the rest of his stuff and practically  _ flies _ towards Blue. 

 

*

 

Keith still beats him there, of course. 

 

He’s already out of Red, reporting back to the rest of the team as he surveys the crash site. 

 

“I found the Blue Lion but Lance isn’t here. She’s pretty damaged but it doesn’t seem like it’s from--”  Keith stops mid-sentence at the sound of Lance arriving, the bicycle clattering to the ground as he hops off. He turns and Lance sees the exact moment recognition washes over his features, the way his face breaks into relief. 

 

“Didja miss me?” Lance drawls, unable to contain his grin. 

 

Keith tugs his helmet off, as he runs towards Lance, tackling him to the ground in a sloppy embrace. He doesn’t reply, face buried in Lance’s neck. Lance hesitantly puts his arms around Keith and finds that he’s...trembling?

 

“Hey,” he says, lightly tapping Keith’s back through his armor. “What’s wrong? Everybody else made it out okay, right? The team’s okay, right?”   

 

Keith pulls himself off of Lance, nodding, sitting back on his heels so that Lance can get a good look at his face. He looks exhausted. His normally pale complexion looks sallow, bruise-y bags under his eyes, hair clearly unwashed. 

 

“It was just you,” he says. 

 

Lance props himself up on his elbows, torn between making a crack at Keith’s appearance or saying something self deprecating about being the only one to fall out of a perfectly good wormhole. He doesn’t really want to say either though. What he  _ wants _ to do is pull Keith back into his lap and smooth the worry out of his features. He sits up and begins to motion between them, words lost. 

 

“Keith! Is something wrong?” Shiro’s concern echos loudly out of Keith’s discarded helmet. They both jump at the sudden sound.  

 

“Is Lance there? Is he alright?” Hunk asks, with Pidge in the background, demanding that they give her back the controls. 

 

Lance scoops up Keith’s helmet and slides it unceremoniously onto his head. “Breaker, breaker, that’s a big 10-4, Blue Kitten is ready to return to Mama Cat, I repeat, Blue Kitten all set to return to you, Big Mama.” 

 

Pidge is choking, half between a snort and a sob on the other end. Hunk vows that Lance is about to get the hug of his life when he gets back to the Castle of Lions, and Shiro advises that they should probably leave as soon as possible, to avoid garnering further suspicion from the locals. 

 

“Copy that, Big Mama. Blue Kitten, over and out.” 

 

Lance leans down to give Keith a hand standing up. He pulls off Keith’s helmet and hands it back, a little sheepish. “Thanks for coming for me, Red.” 

 

Keith nods. “Always,” he says. 

 

Keith stands a little closer than necessary as Lance outlines the damages to Blue and they discuss how to get her and Red back through the asteroids to the Castle. Lance notices as they bump shoulders, but makes no effort to move away. 

 

*

 

Hunk makes good on his promise to deliver a bone crushing hug to Lance as soon as he’s within the castle walls. Lance gets a little choked up as his feet leave the ground from the sheer force of Hunk’s affection. Pidge clings to his midsection, vehemently denying that she’s crying. Shiro pulls him in close, much quieter, surprisingly gentle as he clasps Lance into an emotional embrace, his human hand a firm pressure on the back of Lance’s neck. 

 

“Can I ask why you smell exactly like Cool Ranch Doritos?” Pidge sniffles once Lance is finally free. 

 

“Well, Pidgey,” Lance smirks, as they make their way to the mess hall, where Coran has supposedly prepared a welcome home feast, “lemme tell you a little about a kid named Stevie.” 

 

*

 

Lance rolls over. 

 

When he first heard the footsteps outside his room, he assumed Keith was just passing by. Then, he hears him come back, passing the room again. He’s pacing. Lance sits up in bed, listening to Keith’s familiar footfall. His breath catches as there’s an unmistakable pause outside his door. But rather than come in, the footsteps just stop all together. 

 

Resolve settling in his gut, Lance gets up, swooshing the door open to look out into the corridor. Keith is seated next to his door, back against the wall. He looks freshly showered, but no better rested. 

 

Lance leans against his doorway, arms crossed, as he gives Keith a critical look. “Come here often?”

 

Keith looks up at him for a moment, before dropping his tired eyes back down. “Just the past ten nights,” he tells his lap. 

 

Something breaks in Lance. Forget his insecurities, forget the tattoo, forget the ever-present loom of his  _ feelings _ , he just wants Keith to rest. 

 

“C’mon.” Keith takes the hand he offers and he pulls him into his room. “Boots, off,” he commands, shutting the door. 

 

Keith must be really tired because he complies without fuss, slipping out of his boots and lining them up neatly by the wall. 

 

“Now jeans,” Lance continues, impatient. Keith looks at him, uncertainty written all over his face, but Lance cuts off any kind of argument, “Sleeping in jeans is the  _ worst _ , and I’m tired. C’mon.” 

 

Lance crawls back into bed and lays on his side, facing the wall. Behind him, he can hear Keith slip out of his jeans and fold them up next to his boots, along with his belt. Ignoring how fast his heart is drumming, Lance pats the bed behind him, without turning around, arm at an awkward angle and his ears burning. 

 

Keith lays down beside him, perhaps making an effort to avoid touching him, but failing in the narrow bed. Lance babbles, nerves frayed, 

 

“Okay, you can be big spoon  _ this _ time, but don’t get used to it, because--”

 

“Lance.” 

 

Lance falls silent. 

 

A painful recollection of the last time they were in bed together surfaces in Lance’s mind. He clenches his jaw and curls into himself, trying to make more room. Keith is tense behind him. Lance wonders if he’s messed this up again. 

 

Keith’s voice, raw and so so close, breaks the silence. “I’m glad you’re back safe.” 

 

He nods in the dark, not trusting his voice to reply. He listens to Keith’s breathing, still very much awake.

 

Keith shifts, pulling most of the blanket off Lance. Lance bites his lip, determined to break the tension. “I  _ knew _ you’d be a blanket stealer!” 

 

“You’ve imagined sleeping with me?” 

 

Lance chokes. So much for ‘breaking the tension.’ He can always depend on Keith to be blunt. Keith means sleeping with him but  _ sleeping with him _ is also implied, and Lance can’t help but feel that an honest answer will bring him trouble. Even so….

 

“Yeah,” he breathes out. 

 

“Oh,” Keith responds. He finally relaxes against Lance’s back. “Me too.” 

 

“Huh?” Lance makes a sound of disbelief,  _ what’s that even mean? _ But, true to his word, now that Keith’s head is on the pillow, it’s light’s out. Lance snorts. 

 

Keith settles into Lance as his sleep deepens, breathing soft and even. Lance cautiously uncurls his legs, stretching into a more comfortable position. Keith reacts to the movement in his sleep, nestling his face against the nape of Lance’s neck, one knee sliding comfortably to fit between Lance’s legs. His arm hooks around Lance possessively, as if he needs the reassurance that Lance is there. 

 

Lance closes his eyes and tries to sear this into his memory. This is nearly everything he’s ever wanted, the rise and fall of Keith’s chest against his back, warmth seeping into him. He’s a million, trillion miles away, but still, somehow, he sleeps like he’s at home. 

 

*

 

Lance wakes up alone. 

 

He’s half inclined to believe that Keith snuggling into him in a haze of exhaustion was some kind of deluded dream, except for the mussed imprint in his sheets and the faint, almost soapy, smell that lingers on his pillow. 

 

He breathes it in deep, sighing it out with a stretch as he slowly works up the motivation to rise for the day. 

 

_ Probably for the best that Keith is gone _ , he muses, brushing his teeth, carefully sidestepping the deep disappointment that’s settling into his chest. Morning breath and all that. He spits in the sink and rinses out his mouth with the orangey Altean version of mouthwash. 

 

_ Oh. Look at that. _ He rolls his eyes.  _ Really? _ The tattoo is on his forehead, not right in the middle, but very, very noticeable. He sighs, and leans down in the sink to scrub his face. 

 

When he straightens back up, fully cleansed, the tattoo is still there, brightly turning just about his left eyebrow. 

 

He wiggles his brows in the mirror. The tattoo turns in place. 

 

Lance sighs. At this point, what can he do but get Keith to move it somewhere else? That means explaining the whole thing to him, Lance realizes, mortified, but he’s tired of skating around the issue. They’re trying to save the universe; there’s better things to worry about than his more-than-just-a-simple-crush. Which, despite the events of the previous night, is clearly as unrequited as it’s always been. 

 

He pads down to the training deck. Keith is not there. 

 

He’s also not in his room, or on the observatory deck, or in the common room, or in Red’s hanger. 

 

Lance makes his way to the kitchen. He finds Hunk there, trying out a new recipe. Allura sits at the counter, a willing participant in taste testing. 

 

“Hey, Lance, taste this, tell me what you think,” Hunk says, offering him a spoon. 

 

“It’s quite delicious,” Allura agrees, momentarily forgetting her manners as she replies with her mouth full. 

 

“I’m sure it is, but I’m busy right now. Anybody know where our favorite mullet man is currently brooding?” 

 

Hunk shrugs like,  _ your loss _ , as he replies, “Nope, haven’t seen him. By the way,” he points to his forehead. 

 

Lance shushes him, “I know, buddy, I’m working on it. Allura, you wouldn’t happen to know, would you?”

 

She tilts her head and finishes chewing. “Hmm. If you mean Keith, have you tried the study? 

I noticed he spent quite a bit of time there while you were stranded on Petcha.” 

 

“We have a study?” Lance asks, incredulous. 

 

Despite the vague directions Allura gives him, Lance manages to find the castle’s library without much difficulty. The door slides open silently and he creeps inside, instinctively hushed. 

 

Towards one side of the room, there’s a break in the wide bookcases and a couple of armchairs huddled next to a lamp. Keith sits curled up in one of the chairs, his boots kicked off and a book strewn across his lap. He doesn’t seem to hear Lance come in, so Lance watches him for a moment more before approaching. His head is bowed as though he’s reading, but there’s no turning of pages. He has a pencil in his hand (or the Altean equivalent) like he was going to take notes, but rather than use it to write, he gently raps the end of it on the top of the book, deep in thought. 

 

Lance clears his throat and stifles a giggle as Keith drops the pencil and nearly falls out of the chair. 

 

“Lance! What the hell!” Keith says crossly, pulling his legs back underneath him. 

 

“Sorry Red,” Lance is jittery from nerves and it shows in the way he’s still giggling a little. “I don’t think I’ve ever snuck up on you before. That was choice.” 

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Keith grumbles. He goes back to pretending to read his book. 

 

“So.” Lance purses his lips. He didn’t plan out what to say. “This is a thing.” 

 

“What’s a thing?” Keith asks, eyes still trained on his lap. 

 

“This,” Lance motions to his forehead. 

 

Keith finally looks up at him. “Why is it there?” he says slowly. 

 

Lance shuffles, unsure of whether he should sit or stand. He laughs nervously. “So, I don’t exactly know why, but, uh, it moves, um, wherever you touch me.” 

 

“What.” 

 

_ Holy crow _ , this is harder than Lance thought it would be. Keith gives him nothing to work with. Feeling like he wants to just drop through the floor, he says, exasperated, “Here, just look.” He takes one of Keith’s hands,  _ why are his own hands shaking, damnit _ , and places it on his arm. Keith’s lame gloves are scratchy and prohibit skin contact with his palm, but his fingers lightly graze Lance’s wrist. The tattoo shimmers up to the surface of Lance’s skin, directly underneath Keith’s fingertips. 

 

Keith pulls away, like he’s burned. He clenches his hand into a fist. For a terrible moment, Lance thinks Keith is going to hit him. 

 

The moment passes, but Keith still says nothing. 

 

“Uh, so, yeah.” Lance clasps his hands behind him, trying to be casual, but also hiding the mark. “I don’t really know why, but--” 

 

“I probably know why,” Keith says, darkly. 

 

“You do?” he questions, throat dry. He’s been purposely obvious, for a long time, but to hear it directly from Keith comes as a shock. 

 

“Sorry,” Keith states, finally looking up into Lance’s face. 

 

Lance swallows. He knew rejection would be painful, but this is so...flat, so complete. He croaks out, “It’s okay,” and turns to leave. 

 

“Wait,” Keith says, sliding out of the armchair, words clipped, tone cautious, “I know you’re mad. But I did it because I missed you. And I was relieved you were safe. And I felt bad for doubting you while you were gone but….I was  _ scared. _ And I know that you kinda hated me, at least initially. And that you just like to tease. So I shouldn’t take it seriously. But--.” 

 

“Wait. What are you talking about?”  

 

Keith has his arms crossed, hands in his armpits, and is looking at a spot on the floor. He’s red all the way up to his hairline. 

 

“Keith,” Lance says. It’s all he can manage with his heart in his throat. He takes a deep breath. “What did you do?”

 

“I kissed you.” Keith motions to his own temple. “I thought you were still asleep.” 

 

Lance feels faint. “ _ You _ kissed  _ me _ ?” 

 

Keith looks like he’s about to get angry. “Look, I said I was sorry. Okay? Don’t be an asshole about it.” 

 

“I think,” Lance swallows, “I think you’re missing something here. Uh. The reason it moves in the first place is because _ I _ like  _ you _ .” 

 

If this were any other situation, Lance would definitely find the instant change in Keith’s expression hilarious. His eyes widen, eyebrows raise, and his mouth, previously halfway between a scowl and pout, drops open into a perfect “O.” Lance can practically see everything fall into place for him. 

 

But as it is, Lance is not laughing. He might be stuttering, it’s impossible to tell exactly what’s tumbling out of his mouth with his heart beating so loud in his ears and his mind still stuck shrieking,  _ he kissed you he kissed you Keith  _ kissed _ you _ ….

 

Keith takes a step forward. With his boots off, he’s a good couple of inches shorter than Lance and so he pulls him down by his collar, almost rough, to kiss him. Lance stares dumbly as he pulls away, crossing his arms again. Keith looks up at him, eyes determined, as if daring him to say something. 

 

Lance, for once, doesn’t say anything. He leans down, intent on catching Keith’s mouth in another kiss, this time long and full enough for him to run a hand from Keith’s neck into his hair, tangling his fingers there. Keith tilts his head into the touch, mouth supple as it falls open from the feeling of Lance’s fingers against his scalp. Keith keeps one hand feather light against Lance’s jaw, barely touching, just enough pressure for Lance to know it’s there. 

 

Keith kisses, Lance soon finds, like he flies: without reservation. For all that he fails to express in words, he tells Lance here: _ I like you, I want you, want me too, we’re better together... _

 

When they part Lance rests his forehead on Keith’s shoulder, refusing to step away just yet. “How is it,” he murmurs into Keith’s chest, “that you’re level one at hugging but, like, level nine thousand at making out?” 

 

Keith makes a feeble attempt to push him off. 

 

“Shut up.” He says, biting his lip to hold back a smile. “Besides,” he mutters, bashful, “You’re good at both.” 

 

Lance’s shriek echoes off the tall ceilings of the library. “Whaaaaaat? Keith just complimented me?” He tugs on Keith’s waist, leaning back to shout. “I can’t handle this! What’s going on!”

 

“I’ll do it again,” Keith warns. 

 

“You wouldn’t.” Lance whispers. 

 

“You’re an excellent marksman.” 

 

Lance takes a step back, one hand on his chest. 

 

“Really good at coming up with plans.” 

 

Lance takes another step away and mimes feeling faint, the back of one hand on his forehead, fanning himself with the other.  

 

“Pretty decent pilot.” 

 

Lance collapses to the floor. “I’m dead,” he groans. “It wasn’t Zarkon or the space goo that did me in, it was Keith and his pretty mouth.” 

 

Keith laughs, pulling him back up to his feet. “You’re ridiculous.” 

 

“Yeah, but you love me,” Lance quips. He face pales as he realizes what he said. “I mean, well, you--” 

 

Keith snorts. “Yeah. I do.” 

 

*

 

Lance hears familiar footsteps pause outside his room. He opens the door just as Keith is about to knock. 

 

“Hey babe, come here often?” he drawls. 

 

Keith rolls his eyes. “Everyday.” He raises his hands hopefully. “Wanna spar?”

 

Lance agrees easily. “Sure, just let me get changed.” He pulls off his shirt, tossing it to the bed.  _ Now, where did he put the training suit again? Closet?  _ Rummaging through his drawers, he turns triumphantly, to show Keith that he found it….and catches him in a blush with one hand over his mouth. 

 

“Wassa matter, checking out the goods---oh.” Lance looks down to where Keith is motioning. A tiny, iridescent Earth shimmers on his chest, over his sternum. Just as close as it can get to his heart.  

 

***

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Leave me a comment if you want, and definitely feel free to shout at me on twitter @jacqulinetan. Thank you so much for reading!!


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